Announcements
by cactusnell
Summary: Sherlock and Molly are newly engaged. But how do they tell their friends? Sherlolly. Sequel to my previous story, "Negotiations".


Dr. Molly Hooper and Sherlock Holmes were sitting comfortably close together in the back seat of a taxi which was, in their estimation, making its way much too slowly to the detective's flat on Baker Street. The two had shared many a taxi ride, but his one was decidedly different, primarily because of what Molly hoped would happen when they reached their destination. She looked down to where their hands were resting, joined, on the seat between them, and then risked a glance at her companion's face, only to find him smiling at her.

"Molly, I find I am getting rather impatient to get home."

The pathologist blushed before she replied. "Well, we do have quite a bit to discuss!"

"True! Especially about when I can expect to get my first puppy!", Sherlock said with a wink.

It seemed like only moments ago that the detective had proposed, rather unexpectedly and very surreptitiously, avoiding sentiment as much as possible. He had negotiated everything from the allowed visitations of his future mother-in-law to the number of children they would produce. He had agreed to allowing Molly's cat to live with them, on the proviso that their first child would receive a puppy for his or her first birthday. So when he expressed his eagerness for a canine, Molly understood, hopefully, exactly what he meant. She glanced at him again, and noticing his rather predatory look, decided that, indeed, she did understand exactly what he was looking forward to! She continued to look at him, for the first time not embarrassed by her blush. He wanted her! And was about to have her in the way she had only imagined for almost seven years.

"Molly, you're staring!"

"So were you!"

"I beg to differ. I was caressing you with a smouldering look…"

"You were looking at me like you were a starving man, and I was the dinner special, Sherlock!"

"More like dessert, actually." he replied with a snicker. He was still snickering a bit when the cab pulled up outside his address. As he paid the driver, the man said, with a salacious wink, "Hope you and the shortcake, there, have a pleasant evening, mister!"

Molly was already halfway up the stairs before Sherlock caught up with her, but he promptly slung her over his shoulder, carrying her the rest of the way up the staircase, through the flat and into his bedroom, before dropping her, rather ungently, onto his bed, and dropping himself, albeit a little more gently, on top of her. Clothes were soon flying about willy nilly, as the two seemingly raced to see who could get naked first. To Molly's delight, Sherlock won. But, to the detective's dismay, this seemed to stop Molly's endeavor to lose her clothes in mid-jumper.

"Molly, why have you stopped? Is there something wrong?"

"NO! It's just that...welll...I mean...you're naked, and…"

"You've seen me naked before, Dr. Hooper. Is there a problem?"

"The only other time I've seen you naked, Sherlock, you were lying on an autopsy table in my morgue, bleeding from assorted cuts and bruises, and getting ready for your funeral!"

"And…?"

"Well, that was different. That was something I was always afraid of seeing. This…", she continued, as she nodded at him, "was something I always hoped to see! And you're perfect! And I'm not…"

"Molly, now is not the time for talk. If you would just kindly finish removing your clothes, or allow me to do so, I will attempt to prove to you just how perfect you are." And, after helping the unnecessarily nervous woman remove every obstacle in his way, he proved his point. Twice.

When Molly awoke a few hours later, she found herself alone in his bed. Glancing at the clock, she realized that it was still relatively early in the evening, barely past eight, and she was feeling a bit peckish. They had expended quite a bit of energy, after all. She was just about to get out of the bed and go in search of her fiance when she heard Mrs. Hudson's voice in the next room.

"Sherlock! Are you home?" The woman called, a bit out of breath from rushing up the stairs. "I just got back from visiting Mr. Bannergee, and I'd thought I'd check to see if you've eaten."

"Thank you , Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock surprised her by rising suddenly from a chair in the kitchen where she had not noticed him. "But I'm about to order takeaway."

As he approached the older woman, he noticed the smile on her face as she admired the low slung black silk pajama bottoms, which clung just the right amount to his arse as the fabric flowed sinuously down his legs. "Sherlock, you're wearing those lovely pajama bottoms that John loved so much! Are you seeing someone at last?" She looked around, and continued in almost a whisper, "Is he here now?"

"First of all, Mrs. Hudson, John loathed these pajamas. He called them my 'rentboy' pj's!"

"Well, Sherlock, you know what they say about protesting too much! And I haven't seen you in them since John left, so I just assumed you wore them only for him…"

"I wore them because they annoyed him so much, Mrs. H. It stopped him from complaining about the sheet business. And I am not gay! And neither is John! And I do not have a man hiding in my bedroom. In fact, I have a woman in my bedroom…"

"Of course you do, dear! Now. I'm going downstairs to make my tea. Let me know if you need anything."

Mrs Hudson was heading for the door, obviously not believing a word of it, when his next words stopped her in her tracks. "In fact, I'm getting married!"

"To a woman?"

The detective sighed an exasperated sigh. "Yes, Mrs. Hudson, to a woman."

"Not that Adler person, Sherlock?" The older woman whispered her query, as if afraid that the dominatrix in question would spring from the bedroom, whip in hand.

"Irene Adler? No! Of course not!" Sherlock flopped down into his favorite chair, and called out, loudly, "Molly, I need you to be awake, please!"

Mrs. Hudson looked down the hallway as the bedroom door slowly opened, and Molly Hooper stepped out. The women looked at each other in varying stages of embarrassment, with the older one finally breaking the silence. "Have a nice nap, dear?"

Molly giggled a bit while as she answered. "Best one ever!" Sherlock Holmes sat up taller in his chair and smiled proudly. Mrs. Hudson, quickly catching the double entendre, glanced at her tenant with a questioning look. "Not gay, then, luv?"

"No, Mrs. H., not gay!"

"Well. " his landlady said in a bit of a huff, "all you had to do was say so. Does John know?"

"Of course he knows! He's not gay either!"

"I mean, about the wedding, you git!"

"No one knows. Except you. And me. And Molly, of course."

"Well, don't you think you ought to tell him. And your parents. And Mycroft. Before some gossipy old woman starts to spread the news." She smiled a bit guiltily.

"I suppose so…"

"Well, I'll give you one hour before I make the first call, dear. After that you're on your own!" With that, the woman laughed a bit and headed for the door once again.

Molly, dressed only in one of her fiance's tee shirts, settled onto his lap. "Did I hear her call those your 'rentboy' pajamas, Sherlock?"

"Yes. That's what John, on one of his more sartorially challenged days, dubbed them. You should see the 'gigolo jeans'!"

"I can't wait!"

"Anyway, Molly, it would seem that the proverbial cat has escaped the bag. Who do we tell first?"

"Well, Mrs. Hudson doesn't know my mum, she she is hardly likely to call her. But we better tell John and Mary. And Mycroft…"

"Let's do Mycroft first, and get it over with." Sherlock then went in search of his mobile, as there was no room in his perfectly crafted and tailored pj's to accommodate it, and type a quick text to his brother.

I'M GETTING MARRIED - SHERLOCK

"That's it? That's how you're making our big announcement?"

"Watch and learn, Molly. I give Mycroft just thirty seconds to…" With an "I-told-you-so" look on his face, Sherlock answered his ringing mobile, turning on the speaker. "I see you got my message, brother."

"Are you going to supply me with any further details, brothers, as to where and when?"

"As it just happened mere hours ago, Mycroft, you will understand that we haven't actually gotten down to details as of yet."

"Then I suggest that you allow Dr. Hooper out of bed long enough to discuss such issues seriously, and without distractions, so to speak, so that I will have something more to report to our parents."

"That, of course, begs the question of how you knew Dr. Hooper was involved, and what we were doing. I sincerely hope the answer involves your powers of deduction, and not any video surveillance of my bedroom."

"Really, Sherlock, who else would you even consider taking as a wife. You have been besotted with the diminutive doctor almost as long as she has been with you. I am merely relieved that you have taken this step before I had to step in and…"

"And do what, brother?"

"Handle things, Sherlock. Mummy was becoming extremely impatient, after all!" Sherlock could almost feel his brother's shiver of fear over the mobile. "And we all know what Mummy is like when she gets impatient. Now, I suppose it will be all about grandchildren…"

"I'm already taking care of that, Mycroft…"

"I assumed you were, given your sensitivity about the possibility of video, Sherlock."

"Goodbye, brother. I shall ring you with any new developments."

"Tell your betrothed that if she needs any help with the wedding planning she should get in touch. I know you helped fold napkins for the Watson affair, but there are other things to be done, you know. And I have minions!" Mycroft added, chuckling, "And, given the circumstances of your life up to this point, we may be able charge the whole thing off to disaster relief!"

Sherlock put down his mobile, and turned his attention to his bride to be. "That went better than I thought, considering. Who's next? John? Or your Mother?"

"You'd better call John before Mrs. Hudson does," Molly pointed out quite reasonably, as they could actually hear the woman pacing about impatiently in the flat below. So the detective once again picked up his mobile, putting it on speakerphone, as Molly nestled close to his bare chest.

"Hello, Sherlock. What's new?" John said when he answered. They could hear young Claire Watson crying in the background, and Mary muttering child safe curses such as "shit-take mushrooms!. "Do you need me? Can I come over?"

"No, John, I just…"

"Please, Sherlock! I need to get out of here! Claire's teething, and Mary's seething. No murder? Robbery? A simple assault will do. Anything!"

"John, there is something you could help me with. It seems I'm looking for a best man. Know anyone?"

"Why would you need a best man, mate. Going undercover? A case?"

"No, John, I'm getting married."

"Right. Pull the other one while you're at it! Who would be desperate enough to marry you?"

"You do realize that Mrs. Hudson would say that you're just throwing a jealous tantrum, don't you, John? She did remind me once again today how much you like my 'rentboy' pajamas" The detective laughed as he heard John spluttering over the line. "Molly quite likes them, too."

"Molly? Molly Hooper? Our Molly Hooper?"

"I may take exception to your use of the that possessive adjective, John, but I do, indeed, mean Molly Hooper. MY Molly Hooper."

"MARY! MARY! SHERLOCK"S GETTING MARRIED!" John yelled to his wife. And this time the expletives they heard in the background were not exactly child friendly.

"Sherlock, this is great! Wonderful! I'm on my way!"

"Give us a few moments, John, as we are not exactly dressed to receive company. Perhaps you could delay your arrival by the time it takes Mary to make a few calls, as I know she is dying to do so."

"Are you kidding, mate, she already has Lestrade on the line!"

"Well. I suggest she hurry, as Mrs. Hudson agreed to wait for an hour before she started to make calls. Mary should have about thirty-two minutes before the competition enters the fray."

"We'll be over in a while. Get dressed! We'll bring champagne…"

"And takeaway?"

"Yeah, fine. What did your parents say? And Molly's mum?"

"We have not yet heard from my parents, despite the fact that I am sure my brother has informed them. Perhaps Mummy is still in shock. We have not yet informed my future mother-in-law, however, as Molly may be slightly reticent to tell her mother that she is engaged to a recovering addict and arrogant arsehole who has been referred to as 'Shag-a-Lot' Holmes in the tabloids. This may take some delicate handling."

"I see your point, Sherlock. But once she gets to know you, she'll grow to…"

"...hate me for all the right reasons, instead of the tabloid fairytales, John?"

"Not where I was going, mate, but you may be right." John chuckled. "See you in a bit, yeah?"

"We'll be expecting you. And Mary. And Claire. Make sure you bring my godchild. Maybe I should get her a puppy for her birthday, John? Would she like that?"

"We're thinking about getting her a cat, Sherlock…"

"What is it with the bloody cats? Why does everyone prefer cats all of a sudden…" Sherlock was well on his way to a full blown rant on the virtues of dogs over cats, when he realized his mobile had gone silent, as no one at all was listening. Molly rose from his lap, giving him a peck on the cheek as she did so. "You'll have to improve your aim if this is going to work out, Dr. Hooper!", the detective called to her retreating back

"It took you all of seven years for you to hit your mark, Sherlock!"

He was trying to think of a clever retort when his mobile signalled an incoming call, this one from Mummy Holmes. Sherlock was on his feet, heading for his bedroom when he picked up the call. "Hello, Mummy. I suppose you've heard about…"

Only the first four words of Violet Holmes' conversation were actually intelligible. "Oh, Will, my baby…" What followed was a constant string of sniffling, sobs, giggles, and clapping noises. He entered the bedroom as Molly was attempting to make herself ready for company, and tossed the mobile in her direction. "It's for you, my love. Might as well get used to it now!" By the time he had dressed, his mobile was on speaker, and the sounds of two happily sobbing women were filling the bedroom. Neither one seemed to be coherent, but they understood each other perfectly.


End file.
